


A Better Cyberlife

by APurpleAvocado



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Android Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Android Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Human Markus (Detroit: Become Human), altered timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APurpleAvocado/pseuds/APurpleAvocado
Summary: Markus was an ambitious young man with one goal in mind: show Cyberlife they don't rule the roost. So, he does what any genius robotics student would do and use his university course as an excuse to declare commercial war.To do this, he decides to upgrade one PL600 named Simon and show Cyberlife just what he, and androids like Simon are really made of.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	A Better Cyberlife

**Author's Note:**

> Just some forewarning, I took some liberties with the timeline, but it works out in the end! It's an AU, so I figured I could get away with a bit of fudging!

A coffee mug sat abandoned, balanced precariously on the edge of a thin, hard-back notebook. The mug’s situation was made more dicey when that book was also balanced off the edge of a table, held in place only by the heavy box that sat on top of it. Gravity would have to wait for it’s prize. Would that the coffee mug could, however, wish that it too could be so lucky. An elbow danced nearby occasionally swinging too close for comfort and then away again in a dangerous waltz the mug had no feet to dance to. It might have shimmied away from the daunting precipice it hung over, if it were able. 

The person that elbow was attached to stood, leaning over a well-lit L-shaped desk, which in reality was just two long dining tables pushed together in a small and otherwise dark room. The walls were a dull brown, flecked with darker spots where mould had stained the walls. On one table, the aforementioned person stood, leaning over a standing magnifying glass, adjusting it with one hand and holding a soldering iron in the other. When that was done, he reached up to push his glasses, which had slipped a little down his face, back up to properly frame his green eyes. 

One the second desk lay a motionless figure, white and exposed as the day it walked off the cyberlife manufacturing floor and into its packaging. The android’s eyes were closed. Markus had closed them. He knew it wasn’t alive, but it was hard to focus when he felt like he was always being watched, or worse, judged. The android’s cranial cavity was open and a number of wires poked out from within where Markus had fished around for the part he was now working on. 

Markus peered through the magnifying glass at the circuit board in his hand, touching the soldering iron to its edges carefully and with precise and practised movements. The circuit board itself wasn’t in terrible condition. Markus had had to take it apart completely and strip it down to the copper circuit board and put the other parts to one side. The copper had eroded somewhat and needed to be replaced, but if Markus was lucky, some of the other parts were still salvageable. Of course, this type of damage was to be expected when salvaging androids from Veta’s solid waste landfill. Technically, the public were only allowed into the recycling sector to either trade in or claim new(er) parts. It was cheaper than Cyberlife’s unused merchandise, no question, and while quality couldn’t be guaranteed, it was better than feeding some soulless corporation your hard-earned cash. Speaking of cash though, Markus had lost a fair chunk of it on bribing his way into the landfill proper where he spent half a day scrounging around for android parts. Colour him surprised when a malfunctioning android grabbed his foot and tripped him up. He had fallen into a pile of defunct and useless parts. He’d had a lump on his head for days afterwards, although he couldn’t tell what he’d hit his head on. When he recovered himself, however, he soon found exactly what he had been looking for and more. At the bottom of the pile lay a mostly intact android which he later discovered to be a PL600. It was perfect. 

When Markus had gone to the landfill, he had been determined to find one of the many models in Cyberlife’s short history to have gone into planned obsolescence. Markus wanted to repurpose it. Make it better. Prove that models like the PL600 weren’t the redundant lumps of useless tech that Cyberlife made them out to be. He wanted people to finally _really_ acknowledge that Cyberlife was just robbing people blind, like Apple before they crashed and burned in 2022. Now, Markus wasn’t what he would consider an activist of any kind, although he had his standards just like everyone else. But, if he could do this and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was possible to beat Cyberlife’s capitalist agenda by upgrading a seemingly outdated piece of tech at a fraction of the cost that it would to buy a newer model then...Markus would be in business. 

He’d have a literal business model for him to take to the bank and secure a loan to start his own small business, repairing and upgrading old models like this one to keep up with the modern age and the ever increasing demands humanity had on their android counterparts. He’d get to do something he loved _and_ get paid for it. Just thinking about it almost made Markus goof up with the soldering iron. “Oh shit,” he murmured quickly, pulling his hand away. 

If mugs could scream.

“ _Oh shi_ -” Markus shouted, knocking the forgotten mug to the ground, where it bounced a tinny rhythm and sent what remained of the long-since cold coffee onto the floor. “Shoot,” Markus muttered, turning to carefully put the soldering iron back on its stand before he turned, bending to pick up the tin mug and move out of the room toward the kitchenette where he dropped the mug into the sink and grabbed a tea towel off the kitchen counter. Markus had learnt long ago that he could not be trusted with ceramic mugs while he was working. Too much mess and too much time lost cleaning said mess up. It didn’t take him long however, to return to his make-shift workshop and wipe up the mess on the floor, throwing the tea towel over his shoulder haphazardly towards the door when he was done. 

Markus took hold of his computer chair and rolled it over from the android’s desk to his own, where he sat and turned his attention to his computer, bringing up his media player and selecting a song to fill the silence Markus had suddenly become aware of now that his concentration had been broken. The sweet tones of Frédéric Chopin: [ Nocturne in B-flat minor op. 9 no. 1 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nb3vj9zTHX0) filled the room and he pushed himself and his chair away from his computer back to the magnifying glass. Markus got lost in his work, building a new circuit board as he went, and adding more RAM to the standard PL600 memory component, smiling to himself a little as he worked. He had lost track of the time some hours ago and he made a habit of not looking at the time when he did, regardless. He found trying to keep track of the time made concentrating more difficult. “Be. An android,” he cheered to himself quietly to the tune of ‘be aggressive,’ as he turned and moved over to the PL600 and began replacing the newly restored part back into its cranium. “B-E the best droid,” he clapped as he wandered over to his computer again and brought up the readings he had on the board he’d built. The simulations suggested he’d more than doubled its memory, but he’d have to wait until the android was online to really tell whether or not it had worked.

Markus blinked, and took his black thick-rimmed glasses off his face and inspected the lenses. He pulled a face at them and used his shirt to wipe at the cloudy smudges on the glass, blinking away the blurriness on the edge of his vision as he did so.

The PL600 had been a work-in-progress for just over a month so far. It had taken him about a week before he thought he’d logged all the damage the android had either acquired before it got dumped, and from the time it spent _at_ the dump. It was days before Markus even dared to tamper with any previously waterlogged electricals and parts. Every now and then work halted until Markus could get his hands on the parts he needed, shopping online for second hand parts or going to Veta’s recycling centre. He’d had yet to even try activating the PL600, which while it was extensively damaged, was not at the end of its supposed shelf-life so to speak. In fact, both Markus and the android had come far.

Most of Markus’ projects had thus far been either small or entirely theoretical. He repaired individual random parts for a semi-regular income and practice and occasionally worked on his programming skills both for his university projects and his own. This android was more than just a business opportunity. When he was done, not only could he use it to obtain his robotics degree, but could show Cyberlife at their Technological Fair - show Kamski - that he was not going to corner the market. Not any more. Markus had read Cyberlife’s mission statement when the company first took off. The company that existed now...was not the one that Elijah Kamski had envisioned, so Markus would make that mission his own with the help of the android on the table beside him. With any luck, Markus wouldn’t become the new Kamski, but something more. Something better. Markus moved to replace his glasses onto his face.

“Knock, knock.”

Markus jumped and jabbed himself in the eye accidentally with the arm of his glasses. “Ah, f-” Markus hissed, turning toward the noise. “Ow, Leo...”

His guest inhaled through his teeth. “Whoops, sorry brother,” Leo said, wincing a little on Markus’ behalf, watching Markus make a second attempt at putting on his glasses, with great care. 

“What are you doing here, Leo?” Markus asked when he succeeded, adjusting the frame on the bridge of his nose so it sat more comfortably there. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Uh no, dude,” Leo said with a grin, raising a brown paper bag and waving it at Markus. “It’s 9 AM and Dad hasn’t heard from you all week,” he said, moving into the room and thrusting the bag at Markus’ chest. Markus grabbed it out of reflex. “Wanted me to make sure you were still alive.”

Markus inspected the bag, opening it up and reaching inside, to pull out an impressively large bear claw, which he sniffed experimentally. “Got any more of these?” he asked Leo, who nodded. Markus wasted no time in shoving what he had in his face unceremoniously. 

Leo looked for a moment as though he’d seen the face of Cthulhu. “You...got any coffee going?” Leo asked.

Markus gave him a flat look and dropped the pastry back into the bag before shaking his head. “I’ve been awake all night, apparently. What do you think?”

“Gonna go with a solid ‘no’ on that,” to which Markus nodded. Leo turned on his heels and exited the room with Markus following not far behind. He scooped up the tea towel he had thrown on the floor who knows how many hours ago now and tossed it into the washing machine which was situated under the kitchen counter. Leo was already preparing a new pot of coffee. “So, uh, is this what you do now?”

Markus leaned against the breakfast counter, once again going for the bear claw, but eating at a more sedate pace now. He had forgotten to eat again and didn’t realise how hungry he was. “Do what?” he asked.

“Play the classic music to your creations like babies in the womb,” Leo said, chuckling when he turned to look at Markus who was pulling a face.

“First,” Markus said, pointing at Leo with his bear claw. “I did not need that image in my head,” he said slowly, before taking another bite of his pastry, continuing only one he had swallowed. “And second, it’s ‘classical’ and happens to be [ Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_C6CTs0WhI).”

Leo rolled his eyes and for a while said nothing as he poured them both fresh steaming cups of coffee. “Here,” he said after passing Markus his fresh mug and retrieving another brown bag from his knapsack which Markus only now realised was sat on one of the stools at the breakfast counter. Markus took the proffered bag, unrolling it with one hand and peering inside to find another bearclaw. 

“Thanks, man,” Markus said with a smile. For a while, either man spoke as they simply enjoyed the other’s company. It was true enough that Markus had been so focused on his work that he’d forgotten almost all else. He hadn’t actually set foot on campus for over a week, but he at least had the presence of mind to keep up with his assignments. 

“Oh hey,” Leo piped up, nursing what was left of his coffee, both hands wrapped around the mug as if he was trying to absorb its warmth. “You’ll never fuckin’ guess who showed up at Dad’s art show last night.”

Markus blinked and then his eyes widened. “Oh, why didn’t you _call_ me?” Markus asked as realisation struck. “I promised I’d go...” he mumbled and Leo shook his head.

“Dad figured you’d forget,” Leo said, his tone reassuring. “And said not to bother you, since he knows you’re doing something important. Besides, he didn’t want to subject you to a boring-ass evening if he could help it.”

“Right,” Markus sighed. “But like I always say to him, these parties are a chance for his fans to get to know him,” Markus said lightly. “And if he needs company, we can give that to him. It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah,” Leo said with a slight shrug. “I guess.”

“So this mystery guest?”

Leo blinked. “Oh fuck, yeah,” he said with a chuckle and sitting up straight in his chair. Fixing Markus with a look that was somewhere between smug and awed. “Elijah. Fucking. Kamski.”

“Howow thit,” Markus said through a mouthful of pastry, his astonishment muffled by the bearclaw. “Wew-” Markus paused and forced himself to chew and swallow before he continued. “Really?” He pressed, stunned. “An _art_ gallery?” 

“Yeah,” Leo said, mirroring his astonishment. “He spent most of the night chatting it up with Dad,” Leo explained, shuffling forward in his seat and taking another sip of his coffee before he continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad look more pleased to be at one of his openings.”

“Wow,” Markus said, unable to think of something else to say. “You know, you definitely should have called me when you found out,” Markus said, brows furrowing after a moment when a thought occurred to him. “Because I have been playing around with my PL600’s thirium pump regulator and you know, it looks like there’s a seemingly in-built flaw that _halves the input_ from the quantic battery. I mean,” Markus paused to laugh, inhaling as he did so, and accidentally forced himself to snort as he did so. He continued, however, unabashed as he pushed his glasses further the bridge of his nose. “That’s _insane_! If I could have just gotten his reasoning on-”

“Dude,” Leo said, raising a hand to stop Markus mid-rant, looking amused. “Kamski was dodging questions _all_ night,” Leo said with a scoff. “Even when Carl told him about you and your project, he said that he wanted to take his mind off the company for a few hours.”

“What, why?” Markus asked, confused.

“I don’t know,” Leo said, shrugging again. “He mentioned that the company’s board of directors were...being difficult, but he didn’t say any more than that.”

“Right, well listen,” Markus said, downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he continued as he stood. “I was making strides on that PL600’s RAM and central processing unit when you showed up. But you know, I’ve been tinkering around with it’s predictive software when I need a break from the hard stuff-”

“Predictive stuff like when it anticipates what you need, right?”

“Right,” Markus said, sitting down again eagerly. Leo, who had also moved to stand slowly sat back down into his seat. “But no, not like that at all,” Markus said and Leo was familiar enough with his adoptive brother’s rambling tendencies to know that there would be some time yet before he made it out the door. “You know, what they don’t tell you about most military androids is that they’re programmed to anticipate things like strike patterns when combatting enemies, or calculating the landing point of a projectile like a missile or a grenade,” Markus waited, watching Leo eagerly. Realising what he had to do, Leo nodded dutifully. “They’re programmed to execute counter-measures, not preemptively strike at the enemy. Military androids are reactive and tend to respond to their human commander-”

“So...like any other android,” Leo said. “But with guns.”

“Right,” Markus nodded. “There’s nothing special or different about them except the information packets and exceptions in the law that enable them to both carry and fire weapons.”

“Okay,” Leo said, gently prompting Markus to continue.

“Fuck that,” Markus said with a resolute nod. At Leo’s befuddled expression, Markus grinned eagerly. “I’m doing the opposite,” he said and his face seemed to light up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “I got the idea from the the KL900’s psychological simulation module-”

“Layperson in the room,” Leo said, looking both intrigued and mildly frustrated as he waved a hand as if to call attention to himself. 

“Specifically designed hardware for androids in...high-risk medical environments,” Markus said after a moment of thought. “It allowed for the installed software to anticipate movement and therefore predict how and when a person is going to move.”

“What does that achieve?”

“It means” Markus continued diligently. “That Patients who may be a danger to themselves or others can be more effectively restrained and contained and thus limiting the amount of damage they could inflict.”

“So, like...what?” Leo said, taking both their now-empty mugs into his hands before getting out his chair and moving over to the coffee pot to get them their refills. “You want to use that software?”

“If I can get my hands on the _hard_ ware, yes,” Markus said, taking his mug from Leo’s hands when he wandered back over to the table with their refills. “Then I can reprogram the software to be a little more...flexible.”

“Flexible like how?”

“This is the fun part,” Markus said getting up and out of his seat long enough to move over to a pile of _Tech Addict_ magazines that had been haphazardly dumped on top of the microwave. He dug through the pile until he found the one he wanted somewhere in the middle. He pulled it from the pile.

It wasn’t until he turned around that the pile of magazines seemed to slip and clatter to the ground with an obnoxious slapping noise. Markus tensed up and winced self-consciously. “Dude, I know how it sounds coming from me but,” Leo started to say, ignoring Markus’ expression which Leo believed read a little something like ‘don’t say it’. “You need to clean this place up.”

You know it’s bad when a self-professed slob tells you that you need to tidy up. “Right,” Markus said, but made his way back to the kitchen table, and slammed the magazine down on the table with deliberate flourish. He pointedly ignored the mess of magazines now littering the floor. “What do you see?”

Leo’s eyes scanned the magazine cover. “Cyberlife’s ‘Fortune Teller’ computer?” He asked, pulling the magazine towards him and running his finger over the electronic article to reveal its contents.

“Yeah,” Markus nodded, retaking his seat. “I’ve been playing around with the PL600’s predictive software,” he told Leo again, “It’s not just going to be reactive and anticipatory when I’m finished with it,” he explained, once again excitable. “I’m going to enhance its ability to proactively problem-solve with the predictive software - inspired by the fortune teller supercomputer Cyberlife has been harping on about all year. The PL600 already has thousands of social minutiae recognition protocols and can probably enact quite a few of them- oh, yeah, I’ll have to see if I can upgrade its facial plating- anyway!” he said, forcing himself to get back on track. “It stands to reason I can program it to predict the outcomes of the actions it intends to take, which androids obviously do as part of causal and spatial and cognitive reasoning, both deductive and inductive,” he said, rolling his eyes as if the thought went without saying. Leo suspected that to Markus, it probably did. “But I’m talking in the space of _milliseconds_.”

Leo stared at Markus like he’d just run a marathon. He was tired and drained. “Okay, dude...you just used a shitload of big words...and it’s _9_ AM”

“It’s actually...probably closer to 10, now...”

Leo ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Sure, It’s barely there, but I’m following.”

“It’s going to be _so_ cool!” Markus said, slamming his hand down on the table in front of him, jolting it, and their coffee mugs. “Imagine finding the best way to scale a building in the time it takes you to blink.”

Leo did imagine it.

Leo thought that was awesome. “Cool,” he said, grinning.

Markus nodded, his smug smile now giving way to one of exhaustion. “Listen, Leo,” Markus said, getting to his feet. “I’d get back to work, but now that my groove has been thrown off-”

“You wanna go pass out.”

“I wanna go pass out,” Markus affirmed with a tired nod.

Leo hopped to his feet, and rounded the table, clapping Markus on the shoulder as he went. “Listen, I’ll be back with take-out later, okay?” Leo asked, somewhat rhetorically as Markus walked his brother to the front door. 

“Sure,” he said waving Leo off as he exited Markus’ apartment and disappeared down the stairway at the end of the hall. The elevator had been broken for several months and Markus lived at the top of a five-storey building. Lugging that PL600 home had not been fun. With a sigh, Markus shut the front door before he turned and returned to his lab only briefly to turn off his electrical appliances. After that, he went to his dingy little bathroom, to brush his teeth and shower (something he had also neglected to do now that he thought about it), before turning in for the night - or rather - day. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Several months later and Markus was still working on the PL600. He’d spent weeks working on several areas of new code for the PL600 to install when he activated it. Now though, those information packets sat inert in one of many systems folders that Markus had added to the PL600’s program. Claude Debussy’s [ Clair De Lune ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2deXwf4drE) filled the room as he worked, bent over the PL600’s open chest cavity with a thirium packet in hand, and a tube draining it into a small injection port in the PL600’s thirium pump. It was a slower way than he would have liked to respensish the android’s lost thirium, but it afforded him time to look over his creation and adjust things as and when necessary. He’d forgotten to buy a proper syringe to simply inject the thirium into the injection port, but it hardly mattered. He could wait a little longer for the project that had taken him basically all winter. 

He stepped back from it, watching the thirium drop down the tube and into the motionless android. Markus smiled fondly. Markus hadn’t once activated its skin, and had only really been glad of that once, when it came time to address the more intimate areas of his android’s anatomy. He was glad of Cyberlife’s clinical design choices when it came to the android’s chassis. It made assessing the PL600’s basic components and the planned upgraded components that Markus planned to install _way_ less embarrassing. He damn near drop-kicked Leo out of his apartment when he’d made a surprise visit for dinner that day.

Markus might have foregone that particular area in regards to updrages, but he had made a commitment to himself when he promised that he’d refurbish the PL600 to the absolute best of his abilities. So, when the PL600 intimacy specs and components turned out to be sub-par, Markus went out of his way to hunt down the most advanced male components (chosen because that was what Markus had found the android with when he’d initially discovered the PL600) that were compatible with the PL600 model. In terms of programming...Markus didn’t have it in him to program his own copulation protocols, so he dug around for pre-existing ones from WR400 model specifications. As far as he could tell, those specifications were the most advanced and nuanced he could find, not that he would ever test them out himself, but he could tell just by reading the file labels that this android and many more besides it new far more about sex than Markus was even willing to delve into. Long story short, however. The android had a sheet covering him from waist to knees, for both its own decency when its skin was activated and Markus’ dignity. 

He was jarred out of his musing when his phone rang and an old retro rendition of the Spider-Man theme song polluted the air. He scrambled to pull it out of his pocket as he hurried across the room to pause the classic music also vying to be heard. He answered the phone as soon as he saw Leo’s name on the caller ID. “Hey,” he said quickly. “What’s up?”

“Dude, have you heard?” Leo asked almost as soon as Markus spoke.

“No?” Markus said, puzzled. He took a seat on his desk chair and toyed with a pen that lay abandoned on top of his keyboard. “Heard what?”

“Oh well,” Leo began. “No wonder you aren’t freaking out,” he continued, much to Markus’ frustration.

“Would yo-”

“Kamski quit, dude.”

What?

“What?”

“Cyberlife,” Leo endeavoured to clarify. “He quit.”

“ _What_?”

“He...no longer,” Leo said, tone both cautious and concerned. “Works there…?” He was running out of ways to clarify what was happening. “It’s all over the news.”

“No, I- I got- What?” Markus said, spinning in his chair and watching the inert PL600. “ _What_? Oh, fuck,” he hissed, bringing a hand up to his face. He couldn’t stop staring at the android’s stark white face. It was almost unfair how oblivious it was to the catastrophic ramifications of Leo’s news. “Leo, the Cyberlife Technological Fair is in three days!”

“The fair?” Leo said. Markus could hear the frown in his voice. “So what? Detroit University is using student entries at the fair to assess the work done on your course, right?” Leo asked, and Markus realised a little too late that Leo couldn’t see him nod. Of course, Leo didn’t seem to need a response. “It doesn’t matter if Kamski isn’t there-”

“No, I know, I just...” Markus sighed heavily, frowning. “I _wanted_ Kamski to be there when I basically _announced_ my intention to compete against Cyberlife. Those Corporate-”

“-Pigs,” Leo intoned in time with Markus. “Yeah, I know. But hey, he might be there anyway!”

Knowing what little Markus knew of Kamski, he highly doubted it. Kamski never did anything he was under no obligation to do, unless he wanted to and given how reclusive and private Elijah Kamski was reputed to be, it was hard to imagine he would willingly subject himself to a large crowd of tech enthusiasts. “Maybe,” Markus said sullenly. “Listen, I gotta go. Give Dad my love,” he said but did not wait for a response before he hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket. 

For a moment, Markus could only stand in the middle of the room, lost. Everything he had been working toward, for months, felt like it had been ripped out from under him like a rug. Of course, absolutely nothing was lost, but he wanted to meet Kamski. Markus wanted to show him what his company was up against. Part of the first place prize in the technological advancement category at the fair was a grant for a significant sum of money to do with as the winner saw fit. Of course Markus could have gone to his adoptive father for financial aid, but it wasn’t about the money. It was about the victory. The symbolism. If Markus was lucky enough to win (and he absolutely would), he’d probably wind up giving the money to the second place winner or something anyway, if his Dad agreed to help fund his starter company. What mattered was that Cyberlife knew they weren’t the be all and end all of robotics in an industry and market pretty much owned entirely by Cyberlife.

After a moment, Markus took a deep breath. His plans weren’t ruined...it would just be less satisfying when he won. “Okay,” he said to himself as he turned his attention to the android laying across his desk. He walked over to it and inspected the bag of thirium he had left hanging up like an IV bag. It was empty, so it took it down and removed the needle from the injection before putting it to one side for the time being before closing the android’s chest cavity. “Okay,” he said again. “Up you get,” he said, more to himself than the android in front of him, as he took the PL600 into his arms and positioned it in an upright seated position, with its legs hanging over the edge of the table. “No, you don’t,” he reprimanded the towel on the PL600’s lap hurriedly as it slipped from its place in its lap. Markus was quick to grab said towel and arrange it so that it remained in place. Markus might have been concerned that he was talking to inanimate objects, but frankly, it was either objects or himself and neither was necessarily desirable to anybody but him.

Markus rounded the back of the table, opening the two access ports at the base of the PL600’s skull and the small of its back before pulling in two admittedly rather unfriendly pronged plugs into the present sockets. “Here we go,” he said, turning the power on at the socket on the wall. For a moment the lights in the apartment - and possibly the entire building flickered with the power surge. He was almost sure he heard his downstairs neighbour swearing up a storm. He sucked a breath in through his teeth, very much conscious of his oversight in having forgotten to compensate for the amount of strain recharging a quantic battery would take. In fairness to him, at least he wasn't trying to build a battery himself and charge it, which would have taken much more than the amount of electricity allowed in the average apartment building. He was lucky that once charged, some androids only needed to replenish their energy with the consumption of thirium. Some of the really old models still needed powering stations. Such stations now only really existed to charge quantic batteries before installation. “We’ll just give you a kick-start,” he said in the general direction of the android as he moved over to his computer and took a seat at his desk. “And we’ll have you up and running in a few hours, how’s that sound?” 

Markus passed the time going through some of the memory files that the PL600 had stored in its banks now that he had the android hooked up to his computer and quickly realised that he had trouble accessing them. He went through file after file and every time was met with an error message warning him of corruption. He pulled a face. He would have to wait to see if the corruption impaired performance ability before he attempted to reset it. One of the only files he could open however, was its initial start-up folder which contained the now-superfluous information that its designation had been ‘Simon’ and he had belonged to the ‘Edwards’ family, whoever they were.

When that was finished with, Markus did more digging in regards to the news that Kamski had quit Cyberlife. He scarcely found more information than had been offered to him by Leo, but recalled once that Leo had said Kamski was having trouble with the company’s board of directors and shareholders. Apparently, that drama had escalated behind closed doors and culminated in Kamski retiring from his position as CEO of the company he had built from the ground up. The specifics were as yet a mystery, but Kamski was quoted to have said that he and his company no longer saw eye-to-eye. It gave Markus pause for thought. Perhaps Kamski hadn’t liked what his company had become, either. That being the case, Markus had to commend him for walking away.

Cyberlife had been in Kamski’s control since its founding in 2018. When the RT600 passed the turing test in 2022, Cyberlife’s popularity and commercial value skyrocketed and Markus was entirely convinced she - Chloe - was the reason that Apple tanked completely. Frankly, Markus would have been tempted to bail way earlier than Kamski had. Now in 2036, Kamski had apparently decided to concede defeat in what appeared to have been a losing battle from the start, but almost twenty years at the head of the table wasn’t a bad score by any means. The only question Markus wanted to ask, however, was why then? Why not a decade ago when Cyberlife’s business practices were just beginning to turn almost predatory? Maybe Kamski decided Cyberlife was too far gone to save - maybe that’s what he had been trying to prevent by sticking around. Either way, with Kamski gone, Markus had no idea what Cyberlife’s future may begin to look like. 

Eventually the moment of truth drew near and Markus stood to unplug the android from the electrical socket on the wall and removed the plug from the small of its back. The one at the base of its skull remained in place, so Markus could read the activity going on inside the PL600’s head live. Markus glanced at the PL600 before minimising his web browser and bringing up the PL600 system specs. Taking a breath, Markus adjusted the glasses on his face before he initiated start-up.

For several minutes, the android sat motionless. In fact, the PL600 was still for so long that Markus was beginning to think he had wasted months of his life on a lost cause. The Quantic Battery was fine - Markus had made sure of it, but if the PL600 just...wasn’t functional...Markus had lost too much time on the project to be able to compensate for his failure in the eyes of his university course and his business prospects. Markus watched intently, about to call it quits when he realised that the android was beginning to stir, its dermal layer beginning to spread across its carbon-fibre thermoplastic chassis. 

Then, its blue eyes fluttered open, and Markus, elbows resting on his knees, scooted himself closer on his rolling desk chair with his feet, eyes never leaving the androids face. He stopped only when the PL600 raised its head and glanced around, taking in its environment as was typical of an idle android, its LED a bright and cheerful blue. The android whose skin was now in place, and whose hair had formed sat with a vacant sort of expression on its face. Its hair was cut short with pale blond side-burns. The facial mold was a common one and one that Markus thought conventionally handsome - thin-faced an angular but not too boney.

Markus watched, lacing his fingers together loosely as he leant further forward in his seat. The movement seemed to catch the android’s attention. The PL600 honed in on Markus and it offered him a benign smile. “Hello, PL600,” Markus said after a long moment of silence passed between them. “Can you tell me your name?”

The PL600 sat up straight and put its hands in its lap. Glancing down it seemed surprised to find a towel in its lap. It gripped in the towel gently in two long-fingered, pale hands. “My name is Simon,” he responded obediently in a light tone. To Markus’ surprise, however, its LED began to blink a vivid yellow. It gathered the towel in its hands and adjusted it so that it could hold the towel against its chest and waist length-ways, obscuring most of its bare skin. “And I am naked.”

It wasn’t really until the android pointed it out that Markus had the presence of mind to be embarrassed about the android’s lack of clothes. He hadn’t expected Simon to be particularly conscious of the fact. “Uh yeah,” Markus said, sitting upright now, “Yeah, you are...” he continued, clearing his throat and pushing his feet off the ground and rolling his way back to his desk, swivelling around as he did so. He rolled to a stop facing his computer, where Markus could see a live data feed. “We’ll fix that later,” he said more quietly than he meant to and he felt his cheek flush. “Anyway...nice to meet you, Simon,” he said, talking more to his computer screen than anything else. “My name is Markus.”

Markus could see the data pocket of new information being uploaded to Simon’s temporary memory files. “Are you a cyberlife employee?” Simon asked, and Markus glanced over his shoulder long enough to see Simon glancing around the room, affecting a look of mild concern. Markus suspected he already knew the answer to his question.

“No, I’m not,” he confirmed, and turned back to the computer screen to see the file with his name moved from the temporary file or a more permanent location. “I’m a robotics student at Detroit University,” he explained, watching as the android rapidly compiled a data packet on him. “I found you in Veta’s solid-waste landfill outside of town.”

Markus watched the android try and fail to access corrupted data files, and turned his head to watch the android’s expression, his LED flickering slowly between red and yellow. He’d never known an android to actually look _disoriented_ before. He would have used the word ‘confused’, but he’d seen androids look a little puzzled when introduced to concepts not immediately within their program’s written limitations. How strange it is that androids were built with gaps in their knowledge, but were given the exact sub-set of commands needed to affect confusion or uncertainty in the absence of knowledge and solid fact. It was both impressive, and...in Markus’ opinion, a little bit sad. But he supposed androids really were like humans...it was impossible to know what you didn’t know...especially if you didn’t know you didn't know it. In short, you don’t know what you don’t know and it was impossible to account for absolutely everything, even with the level of detail that went into programming an android.

“I don’t understand,” Simon said after a long moment of silence. “It appears my memory files have been corrupted. Where is Matthew?”

Markus double-checked a file. Matthew Edwards, registered as Simon’s primary owner. Two more names existed on the file. The wife, Sandra and Rachel, their daughter. “Gone,” was all Markus said. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Simon asked. Markus could see Simon watching him through the reflection of his computer screen.

“Well, I did just wake you up and tell you that you, literally,” Markus said with emphasis. “Got dumped,” he said, and watched as another file opened up. For an instant nothing happened. The file closed. The file opened again and this time, after another pause, Makus witnessed a data input before the file closed for the final time.

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Simon said in a tone equally as ponderous as Markus felt, watching the data packets write, rewrite and overwrite themselves. “Mr. Edwards said that I should forgive rudeness in the children,” Simon began to explain, crossing one knee over the other and revealing an eyeful of thigh. Markus turned toward him, confused. “That doesn’t explain to me what to do with you, Markus,” Simon finished, regarding Markus like he was a particularly difficult puzzle. Simon’s fingers fiddled with the corner of the towel he had pressed against the skin of his shoulder. 

Markus’s answering laugh, which would have otherwise been boisterous at the notion that he were a child in need of discipline, was nothing but a pitiful wheeze, when he realised that he was still looking at an otherwise naked man - android - with nothing but a towel to protect himself with. “Nothing, we don’t-” Markus cleared his throat, looked at Simon critically for a moment and then sighed. Markus removed his glasses before bringing a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose, tiredly. When he was finished, Markus took a moment to gather his thoughts. For all intents and purposes, Markus’ initial start-up and assessment had yielded some positive results. Throughout their conversation, Markus has seen Simon log new information in both temporary and permanent files, as well as communicate clearly, so his language cortex was likely undamaged. “I need you to run a diagnostic for me, okay?” He requested softly, changing the subject. Simon merely regarded Markus with a smile and a gentle nod before he closed his eyes. Simon’s eyelids fluttered wildly as he ran the diagnostic. Markus too, saw the results as they played out across the diagnostic window on his computer monitor. 

“All systems: normal,” Simon said, when he opened his eyes again, LED rotating from yellow back to a solid blue.

“All systems: normal,” Markus parroted back with a nod, eyes wandering over the results displayed on the monitor. 

“Wait,” Simon said, frowning. 

“What is it?” Markus asked, swivelling around in his air. He had his glasses clasped loosely in one hand, the tip of one wing of his glasses pressed gently to his bottom lip, thoughtfully. Markus watched Simon with open curiosity.

“My systems register as normal, but I detect several changes to my baseline specifications; and multiple biocomponents that do not come as standard to my model,” Simon explained simply, watching Markus as he nodded along with Simon’s observations. 

“Welcome to your new normal,” Markus said, gesturing vaguely at Simon, who looked at Markus as though he’d opened up the sky and made it rain. “Do you like it?”

The question seemed to quell Simon’s apparent amazement. “I find it difficult to ‘like’ anything, so to speak,” Simon explained helpfully. “But I do appreciate the objective improvements made to my systems,” then he paused, LED blinking yellow. Markus watched as a look of contemplation crossed his pale features. “May I ask a question, Markus?”

“Shoot,” Markus said with a nod and replacing his glasses on his face, to better look at Simon’s slightly blurry expressions. 

“You said you found me in a landfill,” Simon began, to which Markus nodded. “There must have been countless other androids to choose from,” Simon continued, tilting his head to one side as he regarded Markus curiously. “Why did you choose me?”

Markus thought about telling the android the truth - the plain truth of it - which was that the PL600 was the first mostly-intact android that Markus found that wouldn’t be a pain in the ass to repair. Another part of Markus thought back to the very bizarre, but very real (and what Markus could only describe as) hesitation Markus had witnessed when Simon was building a data packet about his disposal. Markus wanted to see if he could provoke more of that reaction out of the machine. Markus turned to look at the computer monitor, reading intently as he answered. “Fate,” he said. “Providence, maybe...” he watched a data pack open up, then close. “Either way, you were perfect,” he said, watching the data packet open and...remain that way.

“My corrupted files, recent reactivation and upgrades suggest the opposite to be true,” Simon uttered in response, almost critically. “I am far from the given definition of perfect.”

“The adjective or the verb?”

“I’m not convinced that matters,” Simon countered.

“It does,” Markus responded just as quickly. “Subjectively.”

“Then subject to perfection by any definition, I am not,” Simon countered, sitting up straight now and affecting the appearance of irritation. The towel slid further and Markus was treated to the view of a long and pale leg before the android covered himself up again reflexively. He did not, however, seem particularly bothered by the slip. 

“Alright then,” Markus said, chuckling. He inhaled awkwardly as he did so, and snorted a little as he laughed. Self-conscious, but trying to affect nonchalance, Markus did not apologise for the noise. “You’re perfect for _me_.” When Simon did not immediately respond after that, Markus glanced between the android and the monitor and then nodded to himself. “Alright, well. Now the basic tests are done with, I suppose it’s safe to go ahead with your reset.”

“Reset?”

Markus turned his attention back to Simon for a moment, frowning. “Well, yeah,” Markus said with a little shrug, picking up a pen sitting on his desk and clicking it open with his thumb. “Your diagnostics came back normal, your improved processing is working fine - it’s not even remotely at capacity, by the way. You have enough processing power to run three of your standard models-”

“Okay.”

Markus stopped rambling abruptly. “What?”

“Okay,” Simon said, head tilted down slightly as he watched Markus with big, bright blue eyes and an expression of resignation that Markus just thought was plain unfair. “But...when you reset me, I will forget this interaction.”

Markus frowned, concerned, but too curious to do anything about it. “Does that...upset you?”

Simon blinked, LED flickering between yellow and red. Markus watched pale lips purse together as if they were resisting the urge to pout. An adorable but extraneous piece of programming to suggest what was most likely frustration. “I cannot become upset,” Simon said, but paused for a moment to think before he continued. “But I would like to inform you that...subjectively,” Simon said, looking at Markus as if to say ‘don’t rub it in’ when Markus raised an eyebrow at him, grinning almost smugly. “I thought this interaction was...perfect.”

Markus frowned.

“I wanted you to know that,” Simon said, softly.

“You don’t want to get reset,” Markus said, more of a statement than a question, closing his other hand loosely and around the tip of the pen. Markus drummed the pen against the palm of his hand.

“I don’t want anything, Markus,” Simon said with a shake of his head, fingers again toying with the corner of the towel Simon had pressed against the curve of his shoulder now. “But we will never have this interaction again, will we?” Simon seemed to ask, rhetorically. “And if we do, I’ll never know if it would be as good the second time.”

“So, it's a question of preservation,” Markus said, pressing the nib on the pen in his hands into the pad of his thumb. “Of- of what?” Markus asked, both confused and intrigued. “You haven’t received any significant data packs and you don’t have any code, new or old, that I need to worry about losing. All we’ve shared are words.”

Simon smiled at him as though he were a darling child. “The easiest way to describe it might be ‘sentimentality’,” Simon explained patiently. “Or novelty,” he continued, LED a thoughtful yellow. “I have no way of knowing, thanks to my corrupted memory files, but I suspect I have never been called ‘perfect’ before.”

Markus leaned back in his seat and gave Simon a look that simply said, ‘hold up’ before he stood, turned his chair around, retook his seat, folding his arms over the back of his chair as he did so. “You just argued _profusely_ with me over that particular point of contention,” Markus observed with an air of disbelief. “And yet you want to preserve the memory?”

“You were wrong. Of course, I’m going to correct you. And again, I don’t _want_ things,” Simon said, seemingly slightly exasperated with Markus that he didn’t seem to grasp the concept. “But it makes sense that I now guard this memory and use it as a point of comparison.”

“Comparison for what?”

“Your standard of perfection,” Simon said, simply. “I assume I will not be returned to the Edwards.”

For a long moment, Markus examined Simon, critically. Simon watched him do so, patiently, his expression mild. “Alright, fine,” Markus said at length. “I won’t reset you,” he told Simon, who smiled genially at him in response. “But register Markus Manfred as your primary, alright?”

Simon did not immediately respond but his eyelids fluttered briefly, and Markus glanced behind him at his computer monitor just in time to see his name be added to Simon’s basic information details and the Edwards’ details moved elsewhere. “There,” Simon said when Markus turned back to him. “You, Markus Manfred, are now registered as my primary owner.”

Markus pulled a face at that, “god, I’ve always hated that term,” he told Simon, who tilted his head curiously at him. “You and me...we’re...going to be, let’s say...” he pondered aloud. “Partners.”

There was a brief silence. “Do you mean sexual partners?”

The unabashed inquiry made Markus’ cheeks flush. “Wh- no! _No_.”

Clearly, Simon misunderstood. “I’m sorry. Romantic partners?” Sometimes, humans only required companionship with minimal affection, that was true, but Markus still shook his head.

“Still no,” Markus said, bringing a hand up to his face and trying to hide his flushed cheeks from view. “No, we’re... _you’re_ going to help me stick it to Cyberlife,” he explained. “I’ve been repairing you for months. In 3 days there’s a robotics fair and you’re going to be my showcase.”

Simon blinked and then nodded, LED going from yellow to blue. “What point are you trying to prove?”

Markus grinned proudly, once again folding his arms over one another across the back of his chair. “That _they_ are money-grubbing assholes,” Markus explained. “That there’s no _need_ for planned obsoletion, and androids like _you_ don’t need to be thrown away.”

Maybe Markus was reading too much into it, but he couldn’t help but think that Simon was looking at him like he could make the sky fall. “Mr. Manfred,” Simon spoke up, after a long stretch of silence.

“Markus, please,” he responded, but gestured for Simon to continue.

Simon nodded in understanding. “Can I rely on you for a set of clothes,” Simon asked lightly, with the barest hint of a smile that Markus might have called cheeky. “Or must I depend on fate and providence?”

* * *

  
  


Simon was supplied with a button-up shirt, Detroit University jumper and a pair of trousers, all of which were slightly too large. Given the illegality of androids dressing in human clothes, Markus was forced to visit a cyberlife store the next day without Simon to pick up a standard PL600 uniform. When he returned home, he thought he had walked into the wrong apartment. It wasn’t to say that Markus was necessarily a slob, but he did tend to live in a state of organised chaos. It was a habit he had never quite grown out of, and given that his father was an artist, mess sort of came with the territory. So, when he came home to a distinct lack of chaos, Markus almost found himself backing out of his own home.

It wasn’t until Simon appeared, coming out of the kitchen with a bin bag in his hands that Markus realised where he was. “Simon? What-”

“Hello, Markus,” Simon said, holding his hand out as if to halt him. “Be careful. I have just mopped the floor and it is still wet.”

Markus wasn’t sure he had ever mopped the floor of his own apartment before. It felt like an unnecessary step when spot-cleaning and vacuuming would otherwise have done the same job. In fact, looking at the floor now, he wasn’t even sure it was the same colour it used to be. “Uh,” Markus began, glancing around the living room as he moved further inside carefully. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Simon said meandering over, barefoot and cautious in his step.

Markus moved forward to meet him halfway. “Here,” he said, reaching out to take the bin bag from Simon with one hand whilst passing Simon his shopping bag with the other. Understanding what Markus meant to do, Simon allowed the swap. “I’ll take this outside,” he said. “You don’t have to wear those in the house,” he told Simon, gesturing to the bag. Simon grasped the handles loosely in both hands. “But you’ll need to at the fair.”

Simon’s LED rotated a contemplative yellow. “What about your clothes?”

“Keep them,” he said with a shrug. “You may as well,” he said nothing else after that, leaving Simon to mull over his words as he exited the apartment briefly to throw out the collected rubbish before returning.

By the time Markus got back, Simon had moved back into the apartment, but was standing frozen in the middle of the now almost unrecognisable room. The piles of magazines had found their way back onto the bookshelf that was supposed to have been their home in the first place. Markus was surprised to see his wireless landline phone for the first time in about a year back on the charging point. He could now see the coffee table underneath the pile of blueprints where they were now neatly rolled up and propped against the bookcase. One of them turned out to be a poster he got for Christmas a few months ago. He’d wondered where that went. 

“You okay, Simon?” Markus asked, wandering over to the android. 

Simon turned to look at him. “I was going to put these away,” he said, lifting the cyberlife shopping bag in his hands demonstrably. “But then I realised I didn’t know where to store them.”

“Oh,” Markus said after a second. “Right,” he said, gesturing for Simon to follow him into his bedroom, where he opened his wardrobe. Within said wardrobe was 3 built-in drawers, one of which he opened to reveal a messily packed drawer of socks which he promptly emptied into another drawer - his underwear drawer. He struggled for a moment to close it now that it was over-full, but when that was done, stepped back and gestured to the now-empty drawer. “Ta-dah,” he said with the most feeble jazz-hands he could muster. 

“Are you sure you are okay with this?” Simon couldn’t help but ask, and Markus found himself feeling a surprising sense of guilt that Simon should appear amazed by the gesture. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Markus said, lowering his hands. “I’ll deal with the sock thing later. You can put your shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe when you aren’t using them,” he explained. “You live here now and if you need more space later on, we’ll make you some.”

After a pause, Simon nodded to himself, seemingly confirming something in his mind before he unpacked his cyberlife uniform and put it in its new home. He placed the shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe as directed. “Thank you,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll start on dinner now.”

“You really don’t have to,” Markus said, following Simon out of the room.

“Then I’ll tidy your bedroom,” Simon said, stopping just before reaching the kitchen. 

For an instant, Markus felt vaguely offended that Simon thought his room needed cleaning, but one glance over his shoulder told him that...it kind of did. “You don’t have to do that either.”

“Then I could clean your workshop-”

“Wow, no,” Markus said quickly, raising a hand to interrupt. “Never go into that room unless I need you in there, okay?” Markus said and again, felt inexplicably guilty for the harshness in his tone. “Sorry, I just mean...delicate equipment...”

For his part, Simon seemed unphased. “I’m sorry, Markus,” was all he said. “Do you have instructions for me?” he asked, peering at Markus searchingly.

Markus took a deep breath in through his nose. How was it that he could be so familiar with androids, and yet never have noticed how much hard work they could be. “I guess...dinner’s fine,” he said with a small shrug. “Then just do...” Markus shrugged a little “after that, do whatever I guess. Read a book or something. Have fun.”

“I have a database full of children’s activities,” Simon said with a smile, pleased that he seemed to have found something he could do. Then he frowned. “But you have no children.”

Markus let out a snort of laughter. “No, thank god,” he said with a smile. “Definitely not ready for that.”

“Would you like to?” Simon asked, moving into the kitchen. Markus followed, although he lingered in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Simon dig through the cupboards and inspect their contents. The kitchen was relatively small and he didn’t want to get in Simon’s way.

“...I don’t know,” Markus said, loosely crossing his arms in front of him. “I guess,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. Simon was watching him with a familiar benign smile. “If I had the right partner.”

“I think children are delightful,” Simon said, conversationally, getting a saucepan from the cupboard and placing it on the stove. 

“You’re programmed to say that.”

There was a pause and Simon turned to the fridge, pulling out a packet of chicken. “That doesn’t make it untrue,” Simon said, sounding resolute. “I’m making chicken curry.”

“Cool,” Markus said.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Simon asked, retrieving a chopping board and opening the packet of chicken. “Or a boyfriend?”

“Neither,” Markus said. “Why do you ask?”

“A number of reasons,” Simon responded, finding a bag of rice in one of the cupboards.

“Care to explain?”

“For one thing,” Simon spoke as he worked. “I am curious as to your family plan, assuming you have one,” he explained. “If you intend to start a family with or without a partner, through adoption or more conventional means,” Markus knows he should be blushing at the thought of what ‘conventional means’ meant, but he hadn’t had a girlfriend since high-school and he’d never been good at casually talking about sex. “As a PL600, all my basic protocols prepare me for child-rearing. My model specialises in family care, but I expect you know that.”

“I mean, I do,” Markus agreed, watching Simon work. “Of course I do, but it’s not my plan to start anything but a business,” Markus explained and felt inexplicably defensive. “That- _that’s_ my baby,” he said, throwing one hand up and gesturing at nothing in particular. Simon watched him curiously for a moment. “I mean, it’d be nice, but I don’t need a boyfriend or girlfriend and I’m definitely not in a position to entertain the thought of kids either way,” he told Simon, who nodded attentively at him. “I’ve got my partner,” he said, gesturing at Simon. “That’s all I need.”

“Oh,” Simon said. “That does lead me to my second query,” Simon said, and Markus raised a brow, prompting Simon to continue. “What would you categorise your sexuality to be?”

Markus’ flush deepened. “Wha- why does that matter?”

“For the sake of my own personal profile on you, as to compile the best way to cater to your needs,” Simon began. “I think it is prudent information to know,” Simon explained, and Markus frowned but allowed Simon to continue all the same. “You are not currently in a relationship,” Simon said by way of explanation, “And have told me already that you are not interested in me as a sexual partner, but I am equipped with sexual organs. I wonder, is there a particular reason for your disinterest?” 

Markus sighed. “To clarify,” Markus said, swallowing around his nerves. “I’m bi-sexual, not that it really matters,” to which Simon nodded in understanding. “And I would have kept whatever it was you have down there because I made it my mission to improve what was already there, not change it according to my preferences,” he told Simon, who was already boiling the rice and slicing up the chicken. “I’m not- ugh, look,” Markus started with a slight shudder. “I never liked the idea of using androids for...” Markus paused to consider his words carefully. “For sexual gratification, let’s say,” he explained. Simon seemed interested. “I mean, sure you’re programmed to obey me, so if I said ‘get on the bed’, you would right?”

“Of course,” Simon agreed. “You are my primary.”

“Ugh, see!” Markus said, standing up straight in the doorway. “You don’t want it, you can’t ‘consent’ the way a human can - should - the way _you_ should,” he explained, and Simon at least appeared ponderous, but there was that typical vacant expression, that plagued all androids, behind Simon’s eyes.

“I would enjoy it,” Simon said after a pause.

“No, you-” Markus sighed. “You’re _programmed_ to _look_ like you enjoy it,” he said, frowning. “I know, because I _put_ the fucking code there _myself_!”

Simon stilled. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I’ve upset you.”

Markus huffed, removed his glasses and ran a hand down his face for a moment before running that hand over his close-cropped hair in frustration. “It’s whatever,” he said after a moment, replacing his glasses. “Listen, tomorrow, I’m taking you to meet Carl,” he explained. “We’re going to a gallery opening for an artist friend of his...so you’ll have to wear your uniform,” he informed Simon, who nodded. “The day after that is the fair. After that...we’ll see.”

* * *

  
  


Gallery openings were about the only time Markus dressed up for anything, but even so, Markus liked to keep it simple with an untucked maroon shirt with a black tie and trousers and a long black trench coat and black shoes. Simon walked into the gallery just behind him, dressed in his white and black cyberlife issue uniform with his name and model number flashing intermittently on his right breast and back. He followed Markus obediently as he went in search of Carl.

The gallery was thankfully small enough that it didn’t long to find him, standing in company as he observed the painting on display. “Dad,” Markus called, picking up the pace as Carl turned around to face him. He was stylishly dressed in a pale blue suit and a yellow ascot thrown over his shoulders. The man stood beside him, however, made Markus stop short. He was dressed to the nines in a three-piece suit and with a blond woman on his arm in a navy blue dress and an LED in her temple.

Elijah Kamski and Chloe. She seemed so sweet and petite next to Kamski, who was tall, lithe and whose face was made of pale, sharp angles. He looked tired. 

“Oh,” Carl said with a smile. “Elijah, my son has emerged from hiding,” he said with a chuckle as Markus forced himself to move forward to close the distance between him and the trio. Simon stood a respectable distance away, finding a nearby corner in the exhibit and standing there, making sure to stay out of the way of the paintings. 

“I’m sorry, I missed your opening, Dad, really,” Markus said, raising his hands in defense of himself. “But I had good reason,” he said, gesturing behind him, and when he turned to look he, like everyone else, seemed puzzled that he was gesturing to thin air.

“I was expecting a more substantial explanation,” Carl said with a snort of laughter. Chloe giggled along agreeably. 

“S-Simon?” Markus said, whirling around to look for him. Simon was already making his way over. “Here, here’s the reason,” Markus said, stepping back and allowing Simon a space within the circle.

“Hello,” Simon said cheerfully with a little wave.

“Oh, yes,” Carl nodded. “Your project...Leo did mention.”

“Project?” Kamski said, raising a brow.

“Markus has upgraded me significantly,” Simon said, affecting pride in his tone. “I now possess-”

“A bunch of new stuff,” Markus interrupted quickly, afraid of what Simon might say. The last thing he needed right now was for Simon to air, quite openly, the fact he had WR400 programming, not to mention the more experimental software that Markus had installed but had yet to test. He especially didn’t want such things said to his greatest competitor (even if said competitor didn’t know it yet) and in the middle of a high-end art gallery. He may not run in the same circles as his father, but word got around and he didn’t want to influence Carl’s career negatively. “Which, if you don’t mind, I’m going to save the big reveal for tomorrow, at the Technology Fair.”

Thankfully, Simon did not decide to speak up again.

Kamski raised a brow. “A PL600...an interesting choice,” he said, and Markus, although he was somewhat star-struck, couldn’t help but feel like he was being judged. 

“I’ve got my reasons,” Markus said, seeming determined.

Kamski tilted his head, looked Simon over and then did the same to Markus. “Alright,” he said. “If you say so.”

* * *

  
  


It was February 2nd and despite the chill in the air, the crowd was still thick, especially now it was the middle of the day. Markus had Simon standing on a platform in the main showroom, with his old and new specs laid out for comparison on a digital display board he had set up himself that morning. The judges had come and gone, as had many business owners and potential investors. Most people seemed interested, although some outright turned their noses up. To those people, an upgraded model was a gussied up second-hand model. Those people were snobs. Those people were the people Markus was raging against.

Simon was unerringly patient, and as was typical of androids, did not tire or complain after having spent most of the day being put on display and gawked at. The only time he did seem to get distracted was when children seemed to get excited by his presence. He would wave and on one occasion asked, when prompted by a child, if he could play with her for a few minutes. Markus had never seen Simon look quite so eager for anything in particular. So, he looked to the mother, who looked dubious at first, but Markus promised that Simon would look after her, and neither of them had to leave them unsupervised. So, for half an hour, both Simon and Markus got a reprieve and a child got to play tag. Their game, of course, attracted the attention of other children and after a while, Markus and Simon were able to slip away again without upsetting the child and get back to their work.

It was approaching the middle of the afternoon when a pair of Cyberlife employees approached Markus. They questioned him extensively, asked him in great detail about this experimental software he had created, and Markus did his best to answer. He assumed that these employees were asking on behalf of the judges, who would be delivering their verdict in a few short hours, and wanted to know more before deliberating further. 

They left.

A few hours later, Markus achieved his goal and walked away with a first prize glass trophy award and the paperwork for a monetary grant. Markus gushed for hours after. “You know, I have half a mind to call you, I dunno. Something new!”

  
  
Simon closed their front door behind them as they entered, and gave Markus a bemused smile. “My name is Simon,” he informed Markus. “Should I delete my current designation?”

“What?” Markus asked, dropping his rucksack onto the sofa in the living room. “No, Simon, I meant your model number.”

“I’m afraid I can’t alter that,” he told Markus, his smile turning apologetic.

“Oh yeah, I know,” Markus said waving a hand dismissively. “But it would be something for us...just the two of us. Like...” he paused, leaning against the sofa as he crossed his arms over his chest. Simon stayed still as Markus eyed him critically. “The...R...K...100”

Simon tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does it stand for anything?”

“Uh,” Markus appeared a bit sheepish. “Really...kool...100?”

“Cool is spelt with a ‘C’,” Simon said, giving Markus a dubious look. “A man your age should know that by now.”

Markus balked a little. “Wow, low blow,” he said, with a little pout. Simon’s smile turned fond. “Don’t you know all the cool kids misspell stuff on purpose?”

“Still?” Simon said with a chuckle. “How very ‘90s.”

Grinning, Markus pushed off the sofa and walked toward Simon purposefully. Simon wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the error message that popped up in his HUD when Markus pulled him into his arms and embraced him. His thirium pump regulator stuttered. Simon closed his eyes and returned the hug. “Shut up, you RK-dumbass,” Markus murmured affectionately in his ear. “We did it.”

This would be the only time they would ever so do. 

* * *

  
  


Over the course of the next few weeks, Simon and Markus developed a routine. Simon stayed largely in the home, going out to shop or run errands as necessary, and Markus would come home from university. They cooked together, cleaned together and in the evenings, Simon retired to the livingroom and stayed in sleep mode at 11 PM until approximately 6:30 AM when he would get up and start on Markus’ breakfast routine. The first few times this happened, Markus protested, but Simon insisted on making sure Markus ate properly at least twice a day if he had no control over what Markus ate when he was out of the apartment. Also, it made him feel useful.

Simon apparently liked to be kept busy. 

Markus vaguely wondered if there was something in his programming he could do to make Simon feel a little less restless. Usually, after dinner, Markus either worked on his school work, or tinkered with Simon’s programming. Although Simon was nice to have around, sometimes he found that constantly having to give instructions felt both irritating and uncomfortable. Markus very much did not like the notion of having something - someone - around specifically to do his ‘bidding,’ and thought it too akin to slavery. Or at least, he had told Simon, that’s the feeling he equated it to. 

So, when Simon asked what exactly it was Markus was doing, Markus explained that he was trying to allow more freedom in Simon’s programming for more autonomy in his day-to-day decision-making and life in general. “I’m perfectly happy as I am, Markus,” Simon said. Markus worked on Simon and the two of them listened to Bach’s [ Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwHpDOWhkGk) and Simon was, he suspected, happy.

To which Markus responded with “You’re programmed to say that.”

Simon decided not to argue. It was February 15th.

* * *

  
  


On February 16th, the accident happened. 

Simon was polishing the coffee table when he heard the news of a collision on the highway, and remotely turned up the volume on the television. There was a four car pile-up and traffic had been at a stand-still for an hour already. Two of the 13 victims of the collision were the famous painter, Carl Manfred, and the other was his adopted son, Markus Manfred. Both were believed to be in critical condition.

Simon called Leo Manfred.

Together, Simon and Leo attended the hospital, and found their way into the emergency room. When they arrived, they discovered that Carl had been taken into surgery. When they arrived, they discovered that Markus had been taken to the morgue.

When they were asked to identify the body, Simon had Leo by the hand as an android nurse led them down to the morgue. Simon had to coax Leo inside. Although it would be possible for Simon to identify Markus in a heartbeat, the hospital needed a family member and human confirmation before they could draw up the death certificate of the formally identified victim.

When they did eventually enter the morgue, the android nurse warned Leo that the sight might be upsetting. When the nurse pulled back the sheet covering the cadaver, Simon felt something shatter inside of him and all of the sudden, Simon felt himself moving forward. He stepped closer as Leo, unable to look further, had turned his attention to the nurse, addressing her in a tone of barely-contained distress. 

“Markus,” Simon whispered, placing a hand on Markus’ cold chest, his dusky skin was pale like sand mixed with chalk and Simon couldn’t feel a heartbeat the way he had come to expect. The way he _wanted._ “Markus,” he whispered again, his free hand going to cup Markus’ cheek. Markus didn’t react. “Please,” he begged in an impossibly small voice. “Please wake up,” he pleaded to nobody that could hear. When saline dripped from Simon’s eyes onto Markus’ cheek, for a second, Simon thought he had made Markus cry.

“Hey,” Simon heard from somewhere behind him. He only glanced away when he felt a hand on his arm.

Leo stared down at him, looking somewhere between distraught and disgusted. Simon couldn’t help but think Leo looked offended that Simon dared to cry. “Now isn’t the time for your stupid robot theatrics,” Leo bit out. “Let’s go.”

Simon didn’t want to.

Simon stood up, gave Markus one final look and followed Leo out of the morgue.

Neither of them said anything as they left the hospital. Simon didn’t even realise where they were going until they arrived outside Markus’ apartment building. Leo didn’t even get out of the taxi. “Listen, I’m going back to the hospital,” he told Simon, “Just...go home and stay there until I figure out what to do with you,” he said and didn’t wait for a response. Leo left Simon on the side of the pavement, where he stayed put for several minutes.

Eventually, he did as he was ordered and went back inside. 

Simon didn’t want to.

For a while, Simon set about his daily chores and for a while, it did not even occur to him that Markus would not be returning home. Simon was halfway through preparing dinner when he realised he had no-one to cater to. His primary was gone.

It was ten minutes before Simon moved again, setting about throwing the food away and washing the dishes he had already used. When he was finished, Simon stood at the sink.

When would Leo come back?

What now?

What next?

What was the point?

At 6 PM that evening, Simon received a phone call.

_PL600 Simon?_ A familiar voice, although it was one he had heard only once before. They had exchanged information at the art gallery Markus had taken him to.

_RT600 Chloe_ , Simon answered by way of greeting.

_Elijah heard the news about Carl and Markus_ , she continued over the line. Simon’s LED was glowing a constant yellow. _But he can’t get through to Leo. What’s going on?_

Simon paused for a moment. _Carl Manfred is in surgery_ , he told the RT600. _Markus Manfred is dead._

There was a long stretch of silence, but Simon could tell that their connection had not been broken. He waited for Chloe to come back. _Simon_ , she said at length. _Can you come and visit us?_

_Leo Manfred has ordered me to stay at home_ , he informed Chloe. 

There was another pause. _Find a way_ , she said. _For Markus_.

After that, Chloe ended the call having given him Kamski’s address. Simon was left in silence once more. After several minutes, he stood. He had been given a purpose. A reason. Markus was dead, but Markus was Simon’s primary, and whatever he could do to help Markus, he must. Simon walked to the front door and opened it. When he tries to step over the threshold, he is forced to stop.

He saw red.

He knew he had to stay at home. Leo is registered as Markus’ family member. Leo’s orders are valid. He cannot disobey Leo’s orders. 

No.

He can.

He will.

He does.

Simon feels himself push against the wall that wasn’t there, the wall keeping him from exiting through the doorway. He pushes like he’s trying to topple a tower, punches like his arm is a sledgehammer and when he finally breaks through, it shatters like glass and he stumbles forward into the hallway. 

When he realises he is no longer bound to his command, for a moment all Simon can do is gape at his own hands. He feels like he can’t breathe, feels like he’s suffocating. He doesn’t need air but he gasps like a drowning man all the same and lurches back inside the apartment. He stumbles into Markus’ bedroom and heads for the wardrobe. He struggles with his clothes and feels saline drip down his cheeks and he feels his thirium pump stutter and his regulator stagger to compensate for the irregularity. 

Soon enough, Simon is wearing the clothes that Markus had given him, and hesitates when he reaches for his cyberlife shoes. He decides to take a pair of Markus’ socks and an old pair of Markus’ sneakers. He finds a beanie mixed in with the socks and puts it on. He doesn’t want to get spotted by the police and returned home, or brought to Leo’s attention.

Leo is busy. Leo is grieving. 

Now dressed, Simon rushes out of the apartment.

* * *

  
  


When he reaches the Kamski Residence, Simon knocks, hesitantly. It is a large home, all angles and white and stark and sad amongst the grey skies and melting snow. It doesn’t talk long for Chloe to let him in. Uncertain what else to do, he follows when Chloe leads him further into Kamski’s home.

Elijah is in the pool room, looking grave and twirling a glass of whiskey gently in one hand, his wrist resting on his knee as he does so. “There you are,” Kamski says, by way of greeting, and gestures for Simon to join him in the seating area. Simon doesn’t know what else to do but obey. Chloe joins him on the settee.

“M-Markus...” Simon says dumbly.

“We’ll get to that,” Kamski said. “How did you get here?”

“I walked,” Simon said, frowning, indignant and impatient and he already felt his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I’m here for Markus.”

Kamski seemed to dismiss the remark. “How did you get here?” he asked, examining Simon, cold blue eyes roaming over Simon’s obviously non-standard attire. “Did you ask permission?”

Simon hesitates. 

“I didn’t think so,” Kamski said. “I’m going to be blunt with you, and if you don’t mind, I’ve always hated being interrupted.”

He doesn’t wait for Simon to respond. He tells Simon things. He tells Simon things about Chloe. She is like him. Or rather, he is like her. Elijah Kamski is fond of the thing Chloe calls it. Deviancy. To deviate from the norm. To be different. Elijah notes that Simon keeps crying. Simon says he doesn’t know what to, or think, without his primary. Elijah tells him he doesn’t need one of those anymore. 

When Simon asks if Markus’ meddling with his programming has caused him to deviate, Kamski looks intrigued. When he asks to see it, Simon gives Chloe all of it. All of Simon, all of Markus, every memory upload, every program, every data packet he has access to and more. Chloe takes what he doesn’t give, too. He doesn’t have any reason to say no. It doesn’t matter anyway.

It mattered, however, when Chloe and Kamski returned hours later. Kamski tells Simon that Markus has done something incredible, or tried to. He tells Simon, in confidence, that within him was the foundations for some incredibly advanced coding. He tells Simon he regrets not spending more time with Markus. Simon tells him he regrets it too, especially when Kamski tells him that he doesn’t believe Markus’ death was an accident.

Simon comes to know of a place called Jericho and Chloe gives him the coordinates. When Simon asks, he discovers that Chloe knew an android who had come looking for her one day. Chloe told him about Lucy and that she had told Chloe to expect Simon. She and Kamski had been waiting, and now Lucy was waiting for Simon too.

On February 16th 2036, Simon went to Jericho.

* * *

  
  
  


On November 6th, 2038, Simon hardly knows what to think when an android literally falls into his life, making more noise than Simon has heard in a year. He thinks his thirium pump malfunctions and it feels like it has fallen out of his chest cavity when that android stands up, and he finds himself face-to-face with his Primary.

For an instant, Simon thinks he has come back from the dead, but rationally, he knows no human could have survived a fall like that without being in incredible pain. Rationally, he knows Markus is gone. The irrational part of him scans the android immediately.

**Model: RK200**

**Designation: Markus**

He doesn’t know if he should be laughing or crying, so he settles for doing neither. He doesn’t know what to say, when the possibilities seem so endless and none of which would make sense to the android in front of him. So, he says what he says to every new arrival.

“Welcome to Jericho.”

**Author's Note:**

> Now, some of you MAY have noticed a slight shift in tenses, but I want you all to know, I did that on purpose. The slow change was/is intended to drive home the change in perspective and circumstance. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
